


A Little Broken

by penstrikesmidnight



Series: IwaOi Horror Week 2019 [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Torture, IwaOi Horror Week, M/M, Magical Realism, Minor Violence, Protective Iwaizumi Hajime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 23:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penstrikesmidnight/pseuds/penstrikesmidnight
Summary: The Institute sits in a man made clearing in the middle of the Wood. It is a whispered wives’ tale for wayward children toeing the line of social acceptability. And on Samhain, Hajime is about to bring it down to save Oikawa's life.





	A Little Broken

**Author's Note:**

> **Are we out of the woods yet**/now we've got bad blood/on the cold hard ground/**nightmare dressed like a daydream**/**they're burning all the witches**/**twenty stitches**
> 
> Happy Halloween!

The Institute sits in a man made clearing in the middle of the Wood. It is a whispered wives’ tale for wayward children toeing the line of social acceptability. And even as children rebel, they keep far away from the Wood because weird things always seem to happen there. 

The Institute is a two story concrete box with very little windows and a larger basement than meets the eye. It has electricity and running water, but the patients rarely see any of those luxuries. Those are for the workers, who sleep on the premise, ready for whatever experiment is next on the docket.

The patients are well-picked. They are people on the outskirts of society, children whose parents would not miss them. Children who do not have parents. And all of them have very strange gifts. 

There is at least one handler per patient. The Institute does not have many patients, but who they have require supervision at all times. Iwaizumi Hajime had just gotten back from a quick leave to visit his family. The Institute promotes positive interaction between their workers and the outside world if for no other reason than to stay under government radar. Hajime thinks that those visits to his family will probably end soon, the distance and guilt building a gulf between them. Besides, he is anxious to get back to his ward. 

Oikawa Tooru has lived at the Institute for five years, his mind slowly decaying to madness. He used to play volleyball, used to go to school and had friends and dated and had future plans, and then he got a visit from the Director. With one look he was declared acceptable for the program, shoved into a van, and forced to live this new, terrifying life. 

Two years ago, Hajime found out where his childhood friend had disappeared to, and overturned every rock he could to get a job in the Institute. When he first saw Oikawa in chains in a concrete cell he punched the wall. There is still a bloodstain where the skin of his knuckles cracked open like eggshells. 

_My, Iwa-chan, how do you really feel to see me?_

Hajime’s room is fairly barren. He puts his clothes away, stores his backpack in the closet. When you live in a place like this there is no reason to have belongings. You are just a part of the machine, a part of the problem. 

There are three shifts in the Institute. Day, Swing, and Graveyard. Most handlers split their time between Day and Swing, like in Hajime’s case, where no one else works with Oikawa. A handler works Graveyard with barely a day’s notice. No one, especially Hajime, wants to work Grave. 

He eats mechanically at the start of his shift, the food bland, all shades of brown. He picks up a tray marked for Oikawa—an even smaller and blander portion, as well as a small water pouch. None of the handlers really talk to each other, except a select few, who everyone else steers clear of. It takes a certain type of person to work this job, but there is a line between working and enjoyment that should not be crossed.

Hajime badges into the patient hallway, waves to the security guard, and proceeds down the sixty-six stairs to the basement level. 

Cold and dark live in the basement like animals trapped in a cage. Hajime stands in the entrance to get used to both before proceeding down the concrete hallway. There are runner lights along the bottom of the hallway specifically for handlers to find their ward’s room, but besides the small bathroom those are the only pockets of light. 

Room six lays in the heart of the basement, isolated from everything that could make Oikawa comfortable. Hajime remembers when they moved him here, Oikawa’s vengeance reaching a peak previously unseen. For the safety of everyone, including Oikawa’s neighbors, he had to be secluded, restricted, controlled.

_Don’t be scared of me, Iwa-chan. I would never let you die._

Hajime raps his knuckles on the door three times before unlocking the door with the key, then palming the scanner to disengage the rest of the locks. The darkness spills into the hallway before Hajime can flip on his flashlight. With his own money he brought some magnetic lights, clawing through protocols to get them listed as an acceptable item to take into the cell. Oikawa's isolation is stricter than the already strangling restrictions, and Hajime had to prove that Oikawa could not manipulate them in any way before being allowed entry.

Hajime doesn't see Oikawa in the flashlight beam so he assumes he is lurking in a corner, as usual. He goes about placing his lights, spiders on the wall, casting the cell in a sickly LED wash. Hajime is surprised Oikawa has not started his usual incessant chatter, but maybe he is mad at Hajime for abandoning him for a full week. It wouldn't be the first time Hajime has experienced the silent treatment from Oikawa.

"Hey, I have your food," Hajime says, glancing around the cell. His eyes land on a figure slumped against the far corner, head turned as if hiding from the light. "Oi. Shittykawa, come on, don't be like that. You know they make me leave. I put it off as long as I could."

As Hajime talks he is already approaching Oikawa. He puts the tray down just out of reach so Oikawa's temper can't affect it. Closer, he notices a big reason Oikawa isn't moving is because he has been confined in a straightjacket. Hajime's jaw twitches. “Who did they have watching you, Oikawa?”

The question makes Oikawa curl up tighter. He dips his head farther into his shoulder, as if waiting for Hajime to beat him. Instead, Hajime starts unlacing Oikawa’s bondage. “How long have they had you like this?” Still church-like silence from Oikawa. Hajime sighs. Oikawa is as temperamental as a bear. Even Hajime will get claws if he prods too hard. 

The jacket comes loose. Oikawa sags against Hajime like a cast aside marionette. Hajime sighs again, allowing Oikawa’s head to rest on his shoulder as he unwraps the rest of Oikawa’s torso. Oikawa’s hair is matted, his stubble brushing against Hajime as he shifts, trying and failing to find comfort. “Are you at least going to eat?” Hajime rubs his hands down Oikawa’s arms. Oikawa nods his head against Hajime’s shoulder. “Okay, then, get up. You can take a shower after.”

Hajime pulls Oikawa’s head up. The light makes Oikawa’s skin take on a sickly greenish hue under his pale, pale skin. 

Hajime sees the tape first, a silver sheen like teardrops hiding Oikawa’s lashes. He sees the string second, jarringly black against Oikawa’s pale pink lips. “Shit. What did you do while I was away?”

Of course, Oikawa doesn’t answer. Hajime starts with his eyes. He rolls his fingers across the tape, gentle, wiping away tears and the mucky, sticky residue of cheap tape as he goes. He starts from the outside in. The skin is the raw red of irritation, glaring against the pale white of sickliness. Oikawa's eyes are dark sinkholes, wide as they suck Hajime in. They have pulled in the color from the rest of Oikawa's body; every time Hajime sees them they seem to become a richer brown. Hajime traces his thumbs along the bottom of Oikawa's eyes, underneath the tape marks. Oikawa presses his cheek more firmly into Hajime's hand, demanding the attention he has lacked, a dog whose owner has remembered him after a long week of neglect.

Hajime pulls away and produces the smallest pocketknife he could find, the only one that fit protocol. He tries not to touch the stitches until he has sawn his way through them, leaving a field of thread along Oikawa's lips. Hands shaking, Hajime unthreads them. He pulls on one too hard. Oikawa tenses but does not make a sound. Blood drips down his chin, a striking red to complement the color under his eyes. Those wide, wide eyes that continue staring at Hajime with wonder.

Oikawa only ever looks innocent when Hajime is taking care of him.

_You are my dependable handler, Iwa-chan. Why would I ever want to hurt you?_

"Twenty." Oikawa's voice is the crackling of leaves underfoot in fall. Hajime furrows his brows. Oikawa clears his throat as if that had been the problem all along. "Twenty stitches this time."

"Ah. A new record. You must be proud." Oikawa grins, wincing when his cuts pull.

Oikawa decides he wants a shower before eating. His food is the consistency of congealed blood, which he prods at for a second before deciding. Hajime takes his wrist, leads him down the hallway. 

Every handler has an allotted hour with their wards out of their cells alone. Some of the inmates have social hours—not Oikawa. Hajime is always given a strict schedule, along with a threat of what will happen to him if he steps out of line. If they had threatened Oikawa, those words would have much more effect on him. 

Hajime has learned he is a very good liar. 

_They treat me like a mangy mutt, Iwa-chan, I refuse to look the part as well._

Most of the inmates look like wild beasts. Not Oikawa. He has always let Hajime know his priorities. 

“I’m going to kill them, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers, the steam of the shower giving his voice life. Hajime shivers as Oikawa’s breath curls around his ear. “Every single one of them.”

Hajime presses his hand to Oikawa’s mouth, turns his face so Hajime can shave his right cheek. If Hajime had to claw through protocols to get the lights, he had to torch them to get a razor. It is under stricter protection than Oikawa himself. The heat sensor in the lock on the small panel in the wall links to ties that bind Oikawa’s wrists to a stool. He also has a key to open a retinal scanner. The razor itself has retractable blades that only appear with Hajime’s fingerprints. They are dull, of course, but Hajime has gotten adept at wielding it without causing Oikawa undue pain. 

Hajime towel dries Oikawa’s hair. Medicine is a myth for workers, an intangible word for inmates. Hajime then brushes his thumb across Oikawa’s lips once, twice. “They won’t bleed. Or scar.”

“Like always, Iwa-chan. I don’t expect anything less from you.”

“What did you do?”

Oikawa sighs breezily. “You always expect the worst of me though. Maybe Snake-san just has a thing for stitches and respect. I hate both of them.”

“When did he do it?” Hajime asks. 

Oikawa picks at a string on the bottom of his shirt. Hajime walks him back to his cell, watches him eat, puts his usual chains on his wrists and neck. “It’s Samhain, Iwa-chan. This year they’re going to burn me up. See if I survive.”

Hajime grips Oikawa’s wrists. Oikawa laughs, loud and unhinged and unnerving. “Burn all the witches, right, Iwa-chan?”

“You have a week,” Hajime answers. “Get ready for it.”

“Maybe Iwa-chan wants to see me die too,” Oikawa whispers as Hajime takes the lights off the wall one by one. 

“Maybe so,” Hajime says stiffly. Oikawa’s hand brushes his ankle when he passes by him the last time, surprisingly warm in the cold, dank cell. He nudges his toe against Oikawa’s thigh. The only form of intimacy safe between them. "At least it would be quieter."

"Mean, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, but he is smiling when Hajime shuts the door behind him.

_They call me fire freak, Iwa-chan. I would have died in that fire if I had known what surviving meant._

Hajime’s routine is fairly open. He spends most of his free time at the gym. Sometimes he peruses their surprisingly large library, although scientific texts bore him. Sometimes he streams a volleyball game if the shitty WiFi is working so he can tell Oikawa the score. He watches how everyone interacts, watches to see if anyone is worth saving. 

He gets assigned Graveyard shift the night before Samhain. With dread weighing his stomach down he approaches the guard station on the opposite side of the basement, where the labs sit. The guard badges him in silently, so silently he walks to lab B325. He sits in the chair outside. He closes his eyes and listens for the cacophony of torture to start. 

Tonight is unerringly quiet. Hajime watches one other handler carrying someone in their arms, a janitor following after to mop up blood. Samhain is a busy day, liminal space opening many opportunities usually unavailable. So of course the labs are mostly closed in preparation for tomorrow.

Oikawa walks out to him, eyes drooping, feet dragging, a little after one in the morning. Earlier than usual for these tasks. He looks fine, feels fine when he drapes himself on Hajime’s shoulder. “I’m _tired_.” Oikawa nuzzles his face into Hajime’s shoulder, stumbles over nothing. Hajime badges them out and Oikawa waves at the guard in the booth. The guard waves back, shock written on every plane of his face.

The guard to the patient wing just rolls his eyes when Oikawa waves. Oikawa has a way of getting under the skin of everyone he comes in contact with, pleasant or not. Obviously, he has had some sort of interaction with this one. Hajime drags him away before he can say anything. 

“What did they give you?” Hajime asks as they walk down into the basement.

“Something to make me sleeepy.” Oikawa entwines their arms and fingers practically lying on Hajime’s back, practically a corpse Hajime gets to dispose of. He drags Oikawa down the last three flights of stairs. “You don’t have to clean up blood. Or vomit. Or tears. Be happy, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. He dislodges Oikawa from his perch on his back so he can unlock the cell door. Oikawa is silent. The only reason Hajime knows he is awake is because he is standing, moving his head from side to side, fingers bouncing against each other. He ushers Oikawa in, closes the door behind him, plunging the room into darkness. Oikawa presses himself against Hajime, who wraps his arms around him.

"Iwa-chan is my favorite cage," Oikawa whispers.

"Listen to me. You're going to get more tired. And it will be hard to think. Do you remember what we did before?"

"I count to ten, and then to twenty, and then to thirty, all the way to one hundred. And then backwards." Hajime nods against Oikawa's head. Hajime fumbles in the dark to find Oikawa's lips, but when he does he kisses him quickly. Oikawa perks up, kissing him back before Hajime pulls away and turns on his flashlight. The guards would be suspicious otherwise.

Hajime puts Oikawa to bed. Oikawa is so close to sleep, so close to oblivion, but Hajime takes Oikawa's chin between his fingers, forcing their eyes to meet. "Tooru."

Oikawa's eyes widen. "Can you get upstairs through the patient wing by yourself tomorrow with this drug in your system?"

Oikawa's hazy eyes focus, a knife honed for killing. "Yes, of course Iwa-chan."

Hajime nods, releasing his grip on Oikawa. Oikawa grins up at the ceiling, his gaze loopy and daydreaming again. "Maybe tomorrow Iwa-chan will get a new ward if I'm burned all up."

"Can't wait," Hajime says, turning to shut Oikawa in his prison one last time.

_You are the only one, Iwa-chan. The only one who cares about me at all._

Samhain is a strange day at the Institute. Most handlers are on duty, which means they have to interact with one another. For some it is no problem. For others, the social ones are the problem.

Hajime confronted them early on in his career and earned the respect of space. Sometimes Oikawa pays for it when Hajime has to leave, but the benefits outweigh the risks. So Hajime is allowed to stand off to the side with minimal interactions, watching the scenes around him unfold.

The bonfire is in the main lab. He wonders how they expect to contain a fire in the middle of a building, but chooses to stay quiet. Besides, this just helps his cause. Oikawa is not burning in the middle of a room full of people who hate him because of who he is.

Hajime licks his lips, anticipation of this night making him hungry.

_Don't say that, Shittykawa. You don't deserve what they've done to you._

Tooru's world is mostly dark. The only light is when Hajime is around. He likes that Hajime fought for lights in his cell, even after he had blown out all the lightbulbs down the hallway when he had had an off day. The only other times there are lights are when he is in a lab getting torn apart limb by limb.

Needless to say, Tooru is usually content with the shadows but today they make him antsy. He keeps falling asleep because of the drug they pumped into his system, which is not a good idea because today is _the day_, finally. The day Tooru gets to kill all of them.

He has never looked forward to something so eagerly in his life.

Hajime had told him that he wasn't the one assigned to bring him up, but it is still disappointing to see Snake-san with his usual sneer painted on his face. Everyone here is a caricature of high school cliches, and Snake-san is the bully who blocks the stairs in order to ask uncomfortable questions.

"Are you ready to burn in hell, witch trash?" Snake-san kneels down next to Oikawa to remove his chains. "I personally hope you survive so I can watch you keep suffering. It's just too bad Iwaizumi is so adamant about being your handler. We'd have some more fun times, you, me, my boys. Tell me, is he so overprotective of you because you let him fuck you?"

Tooru hates Snake-san when he's completely conscious because of his continual string of degradation, and floating in this hazy daydream just make it more irritating. Tooru's brain is full of clouds.

"Maybe my last lesson taught you some manners, huh? Brutal but effective. Besides, your lips look prettier closed."

He is jerked upright. He needs his brain to work, needs to figure out where Iwa-chan said to meet him.

_One...Two...Three...Four...Five_

Tooru stumbles going up the stairs, grasping onto Snake-san's arm. He takes the tiny pocketknife Iwa-chan had gifted to him the night before, stabs directly into Snake-san's jugular from behind. The knife does little more than irritate Snake-san, but Tooru doesn't need much else other than access to his blood. He presses his fingers into the shallow cut and _pulls_.

Blood splashes against the wall of the stairwell. Oikawa makes sure to avoid most of it. His shoes can't be helped. Oikawa admires the red against the unending gray of the stairwell. It's nicer this way. "Is that good enough for you, Snake-san? Now you're a pretty mural."

Oikawa trips his way up the rest of the stairs. A light has started flashing, a warning, the one he is intimately familiar with, the one just for him. They said he is dangerous, brutal. He is not going back into that cell. He wants his Iwa-chan.

He wants this daydream to end.

_You deserve your life outside this place._

Tooru destroys the alarms because they are making his brain fracture into pieces. Electricity is easy for him to manipulate. He knows he is moving slow, but people keep trying to stop him so he has to get creative. He has more blood on him than he wanted for an escape.

He reaches the guard station. He is not sure how he is going to get through. He hoped that Iwa-chan would meet him, that he could figure that part out.

Unfortunately, the guard is in a box that Tooru can't access with the fatigue in his brain. He levels a gun at Tooru, eyes gleaming. Tooru hates being shot but he knows he is too slow to dodge a bullet right now.

The man spasms, the gun drops. Tooru watches in wide-eyed wonder as the guard's bones start snapping like twigs underfoot. He is dead before he hits the ground. And through the warped glass he sees his Iwa-chan, calm as ever, badge the door open.

Oikawa stumbles into Iwa-chan, breathes his scent in for just a moment before pulling away. Iwa-chan has his backpack strung on one shoulder. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Maybe my arm," Tooru mentions.

“That’s a lot of blood for just a cut on your arm,” Iwa-chan says, rubbing his thumb along the cut. Tooru watches it close over.

“I don’t think it’s all mine,” Tooru says. “Well, actually, most of it is not. I made a mess downstairs.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I made a mess too.” Tooru glances around but all he sees are bodies. Some could have just fallen asleep. Others look like their bones are ready to pop out of their skin. Tooru grins. 

“I think you killed more than me,” he says. “No fair. This is my revenge.”

“Believe me, you’ll get it enough of it.” Iwa-chan takes Tooru’s wrist. His grip is familiar to Tooru, more comforting than chains. He follows Iwa-chan, taking in the white, lit hallway. In his muddled mind, he thinks maybe the walls are pulsing. He hears chaos on the other side of the door. When he stops, Iwa-chan looks back at him, face as impassive as ever.

“I won’t let them stop you,” Iwa-chan reassures, and because Tooru believes everything Iwa-chan says he follows him into the entryway.

Everything is quiet, like they are in a mostly soundproof room. Tooru can hear scuffling and yelling outside the room, but it sounds underwater, or maybe like he is underwater. Iwa-chan pulls him toward the windowed doors, the ones Tooru used to stare through longingly on their way to the labs. He has wanted to go out for so long that this moment seems anticlimactic.

Iwa-chan is just badging through the door when it is yanked open. Tooru sees the tall man with ice eyes glaring at both of them. He doesn't know his name, was never in the mood to listen when he was being electrocuted or cut apart. He shifts behind Iwa-chan, all his worst memories marching in a gruesome parade through his mind. Iwa-chan takes a few steps back so the door swings shut behind the man.

"Iwaizumi," the man says. His voice is surprised, which Tooru thinks is strange. Doesn't he know that everything Iwa-chan does is for Tooru? The man's eyes flick to Tooru, the same detachment present as usual. As if Tooru is just a piece of meat to examine. "I don't think you understand the nature and importance of our research..."

"Your research is disgusting and inhumane. There are many other facilitates researching the same things and they don't torture their test subjects."

The man's face twists into a monster's. Tooru grasps onto Iwa-chan's shirt, holding fast. He wishes his brain was not so fuzzy. He is so glad Iwa-chan's gift has made him this lucid. "Those places are bound by rules and regulations that are impossible to uphold. How can I study the way an immortal survives if I cannot _see_ inside...?"

"Maybe a better question would have been why you think some magic is better than others." The man gasps as if he cannot breathe. Iwa-chan must be restricting his airway. Tooru smiles because he knows what is going to happen. "Maybe someone who confesses to having minor healing abilities can figure out how to manipulate a body however they want. Especially on Samhain.”

Tooru watches with satisfaction as the man's legs snap, as he falls to his knees. "Maybe you just wanted a reason to hurt others because of what you lacked." Iwa-chan kicks the doctor on the way out. Tooru hesitates. Iwa-chan raises his eyebrows.

"Can I...?" Tooru asks, miming an explosion with his hands. Iwa-chan's lips quirk into a smile. Without any other permission Tooru turns around, finds a cut and _pulls._

He is not even a little disappointed that he has blood on his face now.

_I don't care how long it takes, I will get you out of here. And I'm not leaving without you._

As they escape into the Wood, Tooru notices the smoke. He wonders for a moment if his haze is spilling into real life, but then he sees the fire in a window. He whimpers, cowers into Iwa-chan's shoulder. "Hey. We're going the other way, remember? And I'm sure it won't take long to contain. Let's go."

Iwa-chan turns him away from the fire and together they walk into the Wood, back to the safety of the darkness. Iwa-chan holds out a clean set of clothes. Tooru changes quickly, wishes he had something to wipe the blood out from under his nails but decides this is better than nothing. Iwa-chan takes his hand, guides him into the darkness. The longer Iwa-chan touches him, the more his brain clears, until he is almost fully back to himself. And then he realizes what they have done. "Iwa-chan, where are we going to go? What are we going to do? They'll send..."

Iwa-chan stops, cups Tooru's face in his hands. Tooru grasps onto Iwa-chan's wrists, chaining them in place. "That place is illegal. It may have some high backers, but they wouldn't dare come after us. I have some ideas as to how to get them to stay clear of us. And if they do ever come after you, nothing is going to take you away again. I promise. I will always take care of you."

Tooru nods. "I...I think I'm a little broken, Iwa-chan."

Iwa-chan smiles. Tooru's heart, beating for revenge for so long, stutters. "I think I might be too. We'll figure it out."

After that they stumble through the Wood together. Well, Iwa-chan guides Tooru, who stumbles after him. They have his small LED lights, but Tooru hasn't walked more than twenty consecutive steps in five years so he fumbles his way through. Iwa-chan makes them stop so Tooru can catch his breath even though Tooru wants nothing more than to get as far away from his prison as possible.

Eventually, the trees turn to shades of gray instead of black. "We're almost there," Iwa-chan says. And they are. They break through the tree line and Tooru stops. He watches as the sun just peeks over the softly rolling hills. His first sight of the sun in five years. "Iwa-chan..."

"It's beautiful," he says. They stand there until the sun is almost fully up before Hajime tugs on Tooru's hand. "Come on, Mom will be up making breakfast before her shift at the hospital."

Tooru follows Iwa-chan. This has to be a dream.

Iwa-chan opens the door of a house on the outskirts of the Wood. Tooru breathes in the smell of bread and laundry and the Iwaizumis. He remembers running through these hallways screaming in laughter as Iwa-chan chased after him. He remembers his first kiss in the front room. He remembers the night his parents died in the fire at his house, the way Iwa-chan didn't sleep to make sure Tooru knew he was there for him.

"Mom, I'm home!" Iwa-chan yells as he kicks off his shoes.

"Hajime? But you were just here a few..." Tooru looks up at the gasp. Iwaizumi-san is the same as she used to be, just a little older. She has gray in her dark hair, more wrinkles, but she still looks like his second mother. "Tooru."

He glances away. He wishes he could have showered first, he is so dirty from the Wood, and the blood, and his thoughts...

He feels gentle hands on his face, not unlike the way Iwa-chan held him at the beginning of their journey. "I can't believe...Hey, hon, it's okay. You're safe. I'm so glad you're okay. You're home now."

Tooru wipes at his eyes, then Iwaizumi-san wraps him in a strangling hug. Tooru sees Iwa-chan standing behind his mother, smiling. He returns the hug. And for the first time in years Tooru believes every word he is hearing. That he is home. That he is safe.

**Author's Note:**

> This week of prompts has been so much fun! Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos appreciated!


End file.
